


Risotto

by Boton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cooking, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, For Science!, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 18:12:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boton/pseuds/Boton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 4 a.m., and Sherlock is banging around in the kitchen.  What John discovers him doing is the last thing he expected Sherlock Holmes to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Risotto

**Author's Note:**

> Why do we assume that Sherlock doesn't know how to cook? In ACD canon, yes, sure, but in the modern day, a man who is single into his thirties must have learned his way around a kitchen, and Sherlock is not one to turn his back on knowledge. Take that plus the throw-away comment in The Great Game that there's leftover risotto in the fridge, and I got this little scene.
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and his universe are the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock is the creation of the BBC and its partners, and of co-creators Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. This work is for my pleasure and that of my readers; I am not profiting from the intellectual property of those creators listed above.

John nestled down under his duvet and pulled the fluffy bed cover up over his ears as he resisted drifting into wakefulness, prodded by the noises from downstairs. The clinks, bangs, and thuds sounded very much like Sherlock was working at one of his experiments, usually a homey sort of noise that John had adapted to very quickly upon moving in with the eccentric genius. But something was different this time; every time John drifted toward sleep, he kept thinking of his mum, and of the sounds of her puttering while he napped as a child.

He pried his eyes open and looked at the clock. Four a.m. Bugger. Far too early to get up and go to the surgery, but too late to realistically get a satisfying amount of sleep, assuming he could ignore the noise now that it had caught his attention. With a gusty sigh, he swung his legs off the bed and grabbed his striped dressing gown off the foot, wrapping it around him and tying the belt as he stumbled his way downstairs.

Blinking heavily as he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted with the expected sight of Sherlock busy at work. He was wearing his usual loungewear of pajama pants and an old tshirt, but his dressing gown had been thrown over the back of John’s chair, and he was perspiring freely. And instead of facing the center worktop, Sherlock was facing the stove, stirring industriously at something while looking at an array of small kitchen timers, each counting down a different number. When one of the timers pinged, he picked up a spoon with his left hand and, without stopping his stirring motion with his right, proceeded to stir a pot for exactly 15 seconds before putting his spoon down and hitting a button on the timers, which began to count down again. Behind him, the center worktop had been cleared of all science equipment (save for an Erlenmeyer flask that John was beginning to suspect was filled with broth) and instead held an array of cutting boards filled with chopped mushrooms, shallots, and minced garlic.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John asked, yawning over the question.

“What does it look like, John? I’m making risotto.”

“At four in the morning?”

Sherlock ignored that question as if it were beneath his need to comment, and he started muttering half to John and half to himself.

“The creaminess of risotto is a function of how the cook controls the starch from the rice. Some cooks swear by constant stirring, while others believe that only periodic stirring is necessary, but I’ve yet to find a controlled study that tests both methods under the same conditions. Even those who have tried both methods have failed to keep the variables, like the temperature and quantity of the broth and the type and amount of mushrooms, constant, rendering their data nearly useless. Lazy, lazy,” he said, trailing off and hitting another button on a timer while he grabbed a spoon.

“You’re cooking,” John said, hoping that a return to basic facts would help him understand what he was witnessing.

Sherlock finally turned his head to take John in as he stood leaning against the door jamb. “Yes, John, I’m cooking. Cooking is just chemistry with food; why would you assume I didn’t cook?”

“Well, for one thing, because this is the first time I’ve seen you do it in the entire time I’ve lived here. Most of the time, calling for a take-away seems to tax your interest in food preparation more than you’d like; it never occurred to me that you could cook.”

“Most of the time, there’s no reason to cook; someone else will always do it for me,” Sherlock said dismissively.

“OK, there’s the Sherlock Holmes I know,” John said. “So why tonight?”

“Bored,” came the expected reply.

“And why at four a.m.?” John asked.

“Also hungry. I’ve not got a case on, and I’m bored and hungry,” Sherlock said as he grabbed two plates from the cupboard and doled out servings from each pan. After some tipping of the plates and apparently an examination of the speed at which the risotto started to move downward toward the rim – which John was certain was going to end up with him cleaning risotto off the floor – Sherlock seemed satisfied, and he plunked both plates on the worktop. Brandishing two forks, he offered one to John.

“What’s this?” John said stupidly, still fighting off sleepiness.

Sherlock sighed. “We won’t know for sure until we test each batch and decide which is better. So eat,” he said, taking his own fork and popping a bite from the first plate in his mouth, then returning with his fork to toy with the rice grains and see how easily they separated from their creamy surrounds.

John took a bite from each. “This one,” he said, gesturing at one of the plates. Sherlock hummed noncommittally, then turned back to the counter and made a note in his notebook.

“I concur. Initial results favor the constant stirring. However, we have several more variables to consider; I have tested with chicken broth, but not with beef or vegetable. Also, the moisture present in the mushrooms and scallions could influence the viscosity of the end product, although I would expect that the garlic is in small enough quantity to not be a complicating factor,” he said quickly, reaching under the counter for two more pans and measuring an equal amount of rice into each pan.

“Now, John, if you would be so good as to measure 236 milliliters of stock,” nodding at the Erlenmeyer flask while he reached back quickly for another bite of risotto. “And, you can put the leftovers from this batch in the refrigerator. Except for this plate,” he added, picking up the plate and moving it closer to him so he could eat while he cooked. 

John sighed and reached for some containers and began his assigned tasks. At the rate this was going, they were going to be eating risotto for a week.


End file.
